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The contrasting approaches of Labrinth’s wounded straining and Emeli’s professionalism both sound equally awful, proving that the fault is with the writing and the gloopy arrangement. Iain Mew: Both singers are over-exposed, but their combination in duet does serve one useful purpose. However, using adjectives as nouns is a real pet peeve of mine, to the point where its use on “Beneath Your Beautiful” makes Labrinth’s screeched high notes, the near-comical strings and the creepy conceit seem like minor infractions. Will Adams: I don’t consider myself a stickler on grammar. God, these charts are filled with people - objects and subjects - who should seek psychiatric help before future romantic entanglement. Hearing Labrinth and Sandé size up their quarry in stereo suggests a Disney Channel adaptation of Cruel Intentions.
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Jonathan Bogart: Schlock in the best, most useful sense: a utilitarian soundtrack to all kinds of socially-approved sentimental occasions, with enough personality and attention to detail that individual listeners can almost imagine themselves feeling congruent emotions.īrad Shoup: It’s like graduation music for sociopath school. That in the video they perform in front of screens of each other is appropriate, as “Beneath Your Beautiful” is as felt as a glib greeting card taped onto a bouquet of rotting flowers. Sandé’s riposte, bathed in clunky drums, is oversung to the point of exacerbating, not ameliorating, its banality. Michel: There are some interesting details lurking in this song, like the pulsing electronics that come in at the same time as the drums, but it sounds like they walked in on the wrong song and bolted as soon as they realized it was a smarmy, awkwardly phrased ballad.Įdward Okulicz: Labrinth’s first verse is a mess of tepid Gary Barlowisms croaked with pure emotion, if you consider constipation an emotion. A heavier beat and the faintest bass wobble provide some hope at the 90-second mark, but quickly give way to those somber string arrangements.
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The rest of us might take up their offer and jump out of that ivory tower.Įrick Bieritz: Both of these singers have proven themselves on hectic corkers, but Sandé’s album was soggy under the weight of her ballads and this collaboration isn’t any better.
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I’ll have to take Emeli Sandé’s word for it that “take it off now, boy” refers to peering into his beautiful soul instead of at Labrinth’s beautiful cock. Treating double entendres like single ones gives this track its frisson. Perhaps they even inspired love yet, alas, Labrinth remained sad.Īlfred Soto: When guys demand pussy while a string quartet gets all James Horner, well, there’s no accounting for taste. They inspired so much ill-advised doffing of clothes, so many wheezed serenades. They swept the British charts (for it is in London that our scene lies). Neither found a little wobbly corruption or resemblance to Enrique’s “Hero” to be imperfections, nor was Emeli’s insistence on mentioning Broadway offputting. They made music, so much fucking unending music. Now Labrinth needed a track. He consulted Emeli Sande, someone for whom “was sad” is a pointless descriptor, and it turned out she just happened to have some strings musting around. After a dreary afternoon bonding over Duke, MRA videos and lists of slang like “feels,” they’d written the topline. (Somehow.) Posner suggested innuendo, self-deprecating negging and a labored leer, like singing while simultaneously trying to huff the perfume out of a girl’s hair. So he consulted Mike Posner, whom he’d met through Cher Lloyd at a party so sketchy she’d never again put dub on the track, and asked his advice after all, “Cooler Than Me” got him laid. He’d known clubs, he thought, but he’d never known love. Heretofore to be known as Labrinthe Melisande…